


they will not feel for you

by CommanderPuff



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, i cried many times while writing this, lexa and madi's journey of healing, so i'm sharing the pain, this fic is emotional, this fic's focus is on lexa and madi, this story has a major character death warning for a reason, this story has a mature rating for a reason, this story's focus is not on telling a happy clexa story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-27 03:32:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15677172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommanderPuff/pseuds/CommanderPuff
Summary: They had built this life on the foundation of their love and the freedom from their people.But all of that is gone, and the path to healing leads to the mountain summit.





	they will not feel for you

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note:
> 
> You guys can thank the recent God of War game for inspiring this fic. This story has been sitting on my computer for a while now. It wasn't the easiest thing to write, and if you're looking for a happy Clexa story than you are in the wrong place. I actually wasn't even going to post this fic but encouragement from a good friend changed my mind. So thank you, Mary, for reading this chapter and encouraging me to share this.

The aroma of sweat and ripe, unwashed flesh fills every crevice of the small, dark shed. A single, thin candle is the only source of light, and it does a poor job, leaving large shadows to hang along the wooden walls. Yet, what little light there is, will do. Lexa has no interest in remembering any part of this man. She does not care about his story or his people. She cares even less for the man’s open wounds that continue to bleed. She only cares about one thing, and the faster she receives her answer, the quicker she can be done with him.

Her fingers run delicately along the sharp edges of her knife, her green eyes trained on the man’s bald head that hangs low. The man hasn’t moved from his slumped over position since her arrival, but it is clear that he is still alive. His chest still rises and falls with steady breaths. If the man is asleep, then it is a remarkable achievement considering the pain he is in. And Lexa knows _exactly_ what kind of pain the man was suffering from. She had been the one to give him those wounds.

A groan falls from the man’s dry, cracked lips, and when he lifts his head, he greets Lexa with a smile that lacks all warmth and sincerity. A smile she has seen many times when enemies have finally been brought to their knees, all avenues of rebellion exhausted, allies dead or gone, and their bodies weary from the fight. It is the smile of a man who knows he is defeated but will not abandon their cause. A dead man’s grin. This man is smiling because he believes his death will _mean_ something.

Years ago, perhaps it would. Before Praimfaya, such a grin meant juggling politics between the clans and listening to the words of her Flamekeeper. But this is a different time. There are no more clans to consider and Flamekeepers to listen to. There is only this life. The one she had built alongside Clarke. The one these people had _ruined_.

“Returned to finish the job?”

His voice brings her finger to pause at the point of her knife. “You know what I want.” She can feel the anger boiling hot and churning deep within the pit of her stomach. She’s felt this rage before. The urge to slice her knife along his neck fills her mind before she swallows back the anger. She must act with her head to get the information she needs.

The man leans back into the metal chair he is bound to. “Then you’re wasting your time.”

Her grip on the smooth polished handle of her knife tightens. Time is slipping by the longer she sits here, waiting for him to give her what she wants. The longer it takes, the more time his people will have to gather up their forces to strike back. Perhaps that is his plan. Survive long enough for his people to come to save him.

Lexa is not interested in explaining why his plan will not work. She knows she will get what she needs. Whether the man is intelligent enough to give her what she wants now and receive a quick death or suffer an agonizing end is his decision.

“I’ve been tortured before,” the man’s false smile remains plastered across his face. “Many times, actually. It was part of the job description. I’ve experienced it all. Nails yanked out. Stabbed. Teeth pulled. Electrocuted. Broken fingers. Hell, one sick fuck even took two of my fingers. I got nice replacements after that job. You probably couldn’t even tell the difference.” He falls quiet, waiting for Lexa’s response. His false smile wavers at the silence. “You’re not going to _win_. Your fancy swords and peashooters aren’t going to save you.”

“I have heard that threat before.”

The man’s smile falls away, but the tiny victory only fills her head with memories she cannot allow herself to linger in.

“So, what are you going to do when my people come?” The man tilts his head to the right, his smile gone, but his dark eyes still alive and eager for her answer. “There’s two of you and _two hundred_ of us. You think you and that kid are just going to pick us off with two guns and,” his eyes flick down to the knife still gripped tightly in her hand, “a knife?”

“What makes you think that your people are coming for you?” Her gaze also drops to her knife, the urge to bury it deep into his chest filling her mind yet again.

The man scoffs. “The whole planet is a fucking wasteland except for this place. This is our _home_. They’re coming.”

Lexa’s gaze lifts back up and settles back on her captive’s face. “But not for you.” She waits for the man’s rebuttal but receives only a silent stare. But her words have left a mark. Another wound, inflicted not upon his skin but deeper, ripping him apart from the inside. “Your people care about claiming this land for themselves. They do not care about you. They left you to die while they plan their next attack. It would be foolish to waste resources on a pointless rescue mission when you can win the war.”

The corner of the man’s lip lifts into a smirk. “So, you’ve done this before. Torture.” He releases a sigh, along with a wince from accidentally tugging on one of his wounds. “Well, like I said, I’ve been tortured before. Bit of a professional torture victim. You can talk to me all you want, but in the end my people will come, and if you and that kid are still hanging around…I can’t promise what my people will do to you.”

She could kill him now. She has wounded the man, but he will not talk. She will get no more from him today. There is a possibility she will get nothing from him. One day she will walk into this shed and find her captive dead. This interrogation could prove fruitless. Lexa slides her knife back into the leather sheath strapped to her thigh. She stands and grabs the back of her chair, dragging it out of the dim light and over towards the shed wall.

“Look,” the man continues after another wince. “The guy I was with out in the woods didn’t mean it. He just got spooked.”

She can taste the anger again, the hot bitter rage rolling across her tongue. Her jaw clenches as her attention shifts to the door. She must act with her head. She will wait her captive out. His people won’t attempt a rescue, and when he finally understands, he will talk.

“He didn’t mean to kill her.”

Her hand rests against the smooth wood of the shed’s door, but her feet lock in place. His words are like a knife to the back, sinking in deep. She can still hear the screams. The crack of the gunshot and Madi’s scream have been echoing in her ears since she lost her.

“The walls on this shed are pretty thin. I can hear you when you’re talking with that kid. The blonde’s name was Clarke, right?”

_“Don’t be afraid,” she clasps her hands tightly around Clarke’s, staring into sky blue eyes filled with fear. “Don’t be afraid. I’m right here. You’ll be alright.”_

“He didn’t mean to kill Clar-”

Her fingers wrap around the man’s throat, nails digging into flesh. Her grip tightens as he chokes on his words and struggles for breath. Spittle drips from his chin, and the only thing she can smell is the putrid, ripe smell of his unwashed skin and the aroma of death on his breath. Yet, nothing stops her from tightening her grip even further, thin lines of blood rolling down his neck. Her captive thrashes in his chair and something akin to a growl slips past her lips.

“ _Never_ speak her name again.” The same bitter anger she has tasted before laces through each word. It is a threat and promise. She needs him for the information he possesses, but he has no right to speak her name. He doesn’t get to soil her memory.

She doesn’t hear the soft groan of the shed door opening, only the sounds of her captive gasping for life. But then a single voice pierces the fog and drags her out from the darker recesses of her mind.

“Lexa?”

Her grip on the man’s neck loosens, and his loud intake of breath is an undeserved mercy. Her gaze drifts over her shoulders and lands at the doorway where Madi stands. The girl’s attention is on the captive, her blue eyes widening as the late morning sunlight washes in, illuminating the dark shed. Without the heavy shadows, the man’s wounds are more pronounced, staining his clothes a deep crimson red in multiple areas.

Madi’s lips part, as if she is about to speak, but the girl stays quiet as her attention returns to Lexa. “Everything is ready.”

Her anger fades, and once again the thought of killing her captive now seems foolish. Especially when there are more pressing matters to attend to. “Good. Go. I will join you shortly.” The door to the shed swings shut as the girl leaves, plunging both her and her captive back into the shadows. Her hand drops away from the man’s neck. She runs her fingertips, slick with his blood, against the rough fabric of his shirt.

Rough laughter worms its way between her captive’s heavy breaths. “You should have done it.” His labored breaths remind her of another. She can still feel Clarke’s hands shaking as she struggled with those last breaths. “You won’t get anything out of me.”

A part of her agrees as she turns and leaves the shed. She blinks against the bright sunlight, the smell of fresh air a welcome relief from the pungent aroma of death dwelling in the shed behind her. She can smell the familiar scents of home. The earthy scents of the woods, the dirt, the grass, the soothing smell of freshly gathered flowers, and the distinct scent of freshly chopped wood.

Her gaze roams from the tall surrounding trees to the various village buildings and lands on the pyre sitting in the heart of the village. It had still been dark out when she had begun its’ construction. Venturing into the woods to chop and collect enough wood. The sun had begun to rise when she had finished the task. She had left the pyre standing barren and had given Madi instructions to gather flowers to adorn Clarke’s…

The child had done far more than instructed. The pyre, once a barren collection of chopped wood and logs, is decorated with dozens of colorful flowers. The soft petals of blues, reds, pale whites, warm yellows, and vibrant purples almost mask the pyre’s true purpose. Her steps are slow and quiet, her fingers reaching out to gently brush against the soft flower petals. As her gaze lingers, she notices the abundance of blue flowers. A choice deliberately made by Madi.

Her hand drops away from the flowers, and Lexa looks around the village center again. The child is nowhere to be seen. Her gaze lands on the largest house within the village. Their home for the past six years. Her footsteps are quiet as she walks towards the house and gently pushes open the door. She finds Madi standing beside a long wooden table where Clarke’s… _body,_ wrapped in white linen, has rested throughout the long night. Like the pyre outside, flowers decorate the…

“Can’t we wait another day?”

The girl doesn’t turn to look at her. Instead, she places another blue flower upon the white linen. Lexa remains in the doorway, wishing for the same. But it is a wish neither will see granted.

“We cannot,” she steps into the house, the floorboards groaning softly beneath her weight.

Madi’s head bows. “I’m going to miss her.”

She knows exactly what to do. She has seen Clarke comfort the child countless times. She knows she should do the same, but that spark of memory keeps her locked in place. Her mind wanders back, content to linger there as long as possible. Yet, as Madi finally turns towards her, she is yanked back to the present. She has missed her chance. Her gaze drifts over to a much smaller table where Clarke’s belongings are all neatly laid out. The blonde’s sketchbook sits in the middle of the table, its pages heavy and worn along the edges. Resting beside the sketchbook is Clarke’s wrist watch, the blonde’s last piece of her father. Leaning against the table is the rifle Clarke built during their second year in Shallow Valley. However, Lexa’s focus shifts to the smaller gun sitting on the table. That’s not where she had placed it earlier.

The floorboards groan louder as Lexa heads over to the smaller table. She does not need to guess how the weapon ended up in a different place then where she had left it. The weight of the gun feels strange in her hand as she lifts it up from the table. “A warrior takes their weapon with them, even when their fight is over.”

“Wait,” before Lexa can take another step, Madi is suddenly standing before her, her blue eyes locked on the weapon in her hand. “I know you want it to go with her but-”

“It’s not about what I _want_ ,” Lexa interjects, “It is about honoring Klark.”

The child’s eyes do not rise to meet her own, but Madi nods and takes a step back. “I understand. I’m sorry.”

Lexa’s gaze lifts to focus on the white linen wrapped around the blonde’s body. Madi does not need to apologize. There is nothing to apologize for. Yet, as those very words dance on the tip of her tongue, she knows the underlying truth. They are both lingering, refusing the face the task before them. Lexa’s gaze drops back down to Madi. She holds out the gun. “Take it and follow me.”

Madi nods and takes the weapon from her hand. Refusing to linger any longer, her feet slowly carry her over to the long table. She can still feel the blonde’s warm body pressing against her own, she can hear her sweet laughter whispering in her ears, and the blonde’s scent, the smell of wood and metal, still fills the air around her. She can hear her voice. The one that lifted the endless weight off her shoulders and made her feel warm. Content. Happy.

_“You should have gone with them.”_

_Clarke’s voice is thick and hoarse, and large patches of red blisters coat her skin, but the sight of her awake and talking eases the worry that has been steadily building up within her._

_Sitting at the edge of the bed, Lexa reaches out and gently brushes a few stray strands of blonde hair from Clarke’s face. “I do not belong in space.”_

_A cough shakes Clarke’s entire body. It has only been two days since the blonde had rushed into Bekka Pramheda’s bunker and collapsed. The ship built to carry them into the sky had already left, packed with the very last survivors. Bellamy, who had stood beside her waiting for Clarke’s return, had pleaded with her to come with him. The supplies in Bekka’s bunker would only last for so long. Yet, she refused. She did not belong in the sky. Not without Clarke. But the truth, the one she could not voice as she watched Skaikru return to the sky, was a simple one. If Clarke had perished, then she had no desire to live in this world or among the stars._

_The weight of such loneliness had barely sunk its fingers into her when the blonde had rushed in, Praimfaya right at her heels. Lexa had carefully lifted her from the floor and carried her into one of the many bedrooms scattered throughout the bunker. For two days she tended to the blonde, only leaving her side to take care of basic necessities._

_“You don’t deserve to be down here,” Clarke’s response is hardly surprising. Clarke had objected to her decision to step down and leave her people. The blonde’s objections had done nothing to sway her. She would not spend years trapped beneath the ground separated from Clarke. If staying beside Clarke meant death, then it was a fate she was willing to accept. “Neither of you.”_

_Lexa’s gaze drifts from the blonde over towards the corner where Aden sits, his head tilted back in slumber. The brunette’s attention returns to Clarke as she gently takes hold of her hand. “And you do?”_

_“Our people need you,” Clarke’s fingers twitch in her hand._

_“Okteivia will lead them well,” a familiar sense of certainty anchors each word. There is no manipulation. No lies. Lexa knows that Octavia will lead the people in the bunker beneath Polis through Praimfaya. The sky warrior has proven her strength in the face of great odds._

_Clarke winces and another cough shakes her body. “They won’t follow her.”_

_Lexa’s brow arches. “Before, you dragged a warrior into my camp to defend your friend, but now you have no confidence in her?”_

_The blonde’s beautiful blue eyes close and mutters a quiet, “Shut up.”_

_Lexa’s lips curl into a small smile as she squeezes Clarke’s hand gently. Her gaze travels back towards Aden. The last natblida of his class. The only survivor of Ontari’s attack. Clarke’s fingers twitch once again before slowly wrapping around her hand, claiming the brunette’s attention yet again. This time, however, the blonde’s eyes are wet with tears._

_“You’re really here,” Clarke’s voice croaks and shakes, threatening to shatter completely._

_“I am always with you.”_

She lifts Clarke’s body into her arms. Her stomach twists at the wrongness of the weight. At the stillness. She turns and retraces her steps back towards the door, a few blue flower petals falling to the floorboards in her wake. She can hear Madi following close behind. When she steps out from the house and into the packed dirt, she can feel her muscles stiffening. The space between her and the pyre disappears far too quickly.

She presses the blonde’s body close to her chest as her feet come to a halt. She needs to memorize this moment. This is the last time she will ever hold her. A warm wind blows through, carrying with it the familiar scents of home and the sound of her voice.

_“Ai hod yu in.”_

She can hear the child coming to stand beside her, the calm wind unable to mask her sniffles. Slowly, with the same gentleness she used to once to cup her cheek and kiss soft, lush lips, she sets the body atop the pyre. She steps back, her arms numb and her body hollow.

Madi reaches out and sets the gun atop the body, directly over where the blonde’s chest once rose and fell. “May we meet again, Klark.”

Lexa doesn’t repeat the words. Instead, she can only stare at everything she had loved laying atop the pyre. The sound of flames crackling to life and the smell of smoke do nothing to pull her away. It isn’t until Madi returns to her side, with torch in hand, that Lexa directs her gaze first up towards the sky and then down at the child.

The heat of the single flame is oppressive against her skin. Her fingers lock around the wooden torch, her stomach knotting tighter at its weight. Her attention returns to the body wrapped in clean white linen and decorated in flower petals. She steps forward. The words she has recited for countless funerals echoes within her mind.

The dead are gone. The living are hungry.

She can’t say it. She won’t. She is not the Commander anymore. Her love for Clarke was _not_ weakness. For six years the blonde had showed her that. They had built this life on the foundation of their love and the freedom from their people.

“Be free, _niron_.”

She dips the torch towards the pyre. It takes only seconds for the flame to catch and soon the heat spreads. Flames crackle and pop, steadily climbing and consuming the carefully placed logs. Leaving the torch to burn with the rest, Lexa steps back. The smell of smoke clings strongly to the air mixed with the scent of-

The child rushes towards the burning pyre.

“Madi!” Her shout echoes through the village as the child snatches Clarke’s gun. The girl’s eyes go wide and she lets out a yelp of pain, dropping the gun. Lexa spots the bright red burn mark on the child’s hand moments before Madi presses her palm to her chest.

A moment passes as the flames crackle before the child dares to look up at her. Lexa is prepared for Madi’s excuse and childish reasonings, but the girl says nothing. She simply stares up at the former Commander, blue eyes not longer full of pleading, but hardening into resolve. Without either of them saying a word, Madi bends down towards the gun. The girl is hesitant, at first, but her fingers lightly brush against the weapon, testing if the metal is still hot. Her fingers wrap around the grip and as Madi straightens back up, Lexa’s attention returns to the burning pyre.

“You must wield her weapon with honor.”

“I will.”

The two fall into a heavy silence, staring into the pyre’s fire.

 

 ● ● ●

 

Her footfalls are silent against the ground, her legs carrying her gracefully and easily through the woods. Night had fallen fast and while Lexa had sent the child to bed after the sun had set, there were still defenses and traps to check before she could let herself slip away into slumber. In truth, she knows that she will receive little sleep before the sun rises. The number of traps is numerous and the areas they protect are vast. The idea of placing traps throughout Shallow Valley and not just around the village had been Clarke’s idea when their enemy’s ship first landed. Do not let the enemy think that they are getting close. Force them to spread out and let their fear of the unknown consume and make them _weak_.

So far, Clarke’s plan was working well. Their enemy did not know the location of the village and those who wandered too close met grim ends.

Except for the two that had gotten close.

The dying man she holds prisoner, and the man who had held the gun. The one who slipped from her grasp after that first explosive crack of gunfire.

Lexa pauses as she reaches a trap. Empty and clean. Untouched. She moves along, her mind falling back into yesterday’s memories. She can envision Clarke’s killer clearly, as if he is already standing before her. Tall and skinny. Barely any muscle on his body. A weak man. Shallow, brown eyes and tufts of dark hair cut close to his head. But it is his neck she remembers most vividly. The word _reaper_ etched in black ink upon his skin. She will kill him. She will get the reaper’s real name from her prisoner and she will make him pay for what he has done. For what he has ruined.

_“Jus nou drein jus daun.”_

It is too late for that.

She spots one of Madi’s animal traps. She kneels to examine it. The animal trap, like the ones meant for their enemies, lies clean and untouched without its prey. The trap’s construction is solid, the knots in the rope well done. Perhaps tomorrow the child will smile at the sight of her bounty. If the Spirits are willing to be kind.

She is letting foolish thoughts cloud her head. This is not the time. She has a home and a child to protect. An enemy to fight. The Spirits are not kind. They are cruel. She knows that truth intimately well. Her head was once filled with their tirades.

A soft cry has the warrior up on her feet and moving behind the cover of a nearby tree. Her hand moves to hover over the handle of her hunting knife strapped to her thigh. She is still and listens, waiting for the sounds of footsteps. Instead, the soft cry grows louder, breaking and choking around sobs. She remains still, listening, waiting for her enemy to give themselves away. But, when the sound of footfalls doesn’t come, the warrior silently moves out from behind the tree. Lexa sticks to the darkest shadows of the woods, following the soft cries until she finds the source of the noise.

A young man, barely into his late adolescence, stands with his back against the bark of a tall tree. He wears the colors of her enemies with his light hair long and unruly. His shaking hands clutch something in front of his chest. As the clouds part and the moonlight filters through the branches, it becomes clear what the young man is holding onto. The flat end of a long, thin piece of wood protrudes from the young man’s chest.  It is one of their countless traps scattered throughout the valley.

“P-Please.”

The young man has spotted her, blood soaking his clothes.

_“I’m scared.”_

“I don’t want to die.”

Lexa’s eyes drop to the thin rope, barely noticeable among the grass and the dirt, that triggered the trap and launched the handcrafted weapon straight into the enemy’s chest. Her gaze shifts to wander their surroundings as she nears the young man. They are alone.

“I-I don’t want to die,” the young man repeats, fear oozing from his body like the blood slipping from his chest. “Please. Help me.”

Her blade glides through the night air so fast that the young man does not know he is dead until he is gone. Blood pours from his throat as Lexa wipes the blood from the sharp blade of her hunting knife off on the young man’s clothes. As the warrior drags the body further from the village, she knows that she is upset. She can feel her eyes digging into her back like claws. She also knows that she is not there. Not physically. She carries that pain, and the young man’s body, deeper into the woods.

 

● ● ●

 

Lexa returns to the village long past midnight. The quiet that surrounds each familiar building soothes the ache in her muscles and silences the noise in her head. Where this morning’s pyre once stood is now nothing but small charred pieces of wood. She walks past the burnt pieces of wood and heads for the largest building within the village. Her home.

The floorboards creak under the weight of her soft footsteps. The building is dark except for a small candle that burns near Madi’s bedside. The child is asleep beneath her furs. Lexa’s attention shifts to the long table that now sits barren except for the stray flower petals that linger upon the smooth wood. Clarke’s belongings still sit upon the smaller table shoved up against the wall. Yet, there is an addition. A small clear jar sits beside the blonde’s sketchbook, filled with ashes. Her ashes.

“It’s not done yet.”

The child’s voice betrays no hint of sleep.

“We need to spread the ashes.”

Lexa moves further into the open space and towards the large bed that once was home to two. “Enough talk. Go to sleep.” She walks past Madi’s bed situated beneath a large window and stands beside her own. She begins to loosen the straps that keep her weapons clung to her body. She can hear the girl shifting around beneath her furs.

“Did you find anything tonight?”

“I said _enough_ ,” the words come out harsher than she intends, but the girl falls silent. Lexa sinks slowly into the bed, the mattress enormous. The warrior does not bother with the furs. She doubts they will provide her any warmth tonight.

 

● ● ●

 

The sound of wood clacking against wood drifts across the dew tipped grass. Her steady, even breaths fill her ears as her feet glide effortlessly across the packed dirt. The waking sun climbs slowly through the brightening sky, soft morning light trickling through the trees and flooding the village center. Even with last night’s chill still clinging to the air, sweat beads across her brow, and she is thankful for the loose, black, sleeveless shirt that keeps her arms bare.

Madi advances, her bo staff whistling through the air. The child’s footwork is good, and her attack is solid, but predictable. Lexa brings her own bo staff up and blocks the girl’s attack.

Lexa retreats a step back and twirls her bo staff once before lowering it. “Do not announce your attack before you strike. Do not give your enemy-”

“Time to form a counterattack,” Madi huffs. “I know.”

“If you knew, then I would not need to remind you,” Lexa lifts her staff and steps forward. “Again.”

The girl swiftly shifts into an offensive stance and presses her attack. As the child’s bo staff sings through the morning breeze, Lexa’s staff rises to meet each strike. Over and over the wooden staffs meet in a dance the warrior knows intimately. Their footsteps are quiet against the ground as they rotate in a wide circle. The girl’s breaths fall out of rhythm and become labored and uneven. Her strikes, once predictable but calmly executed, are now wild and reckless. The child presses an advantage she does not have, her staff swinging madly. The warrior blocks each mad swing before she swings her staff low and connects, hard, to the back of Madi’s leg. Lexa advances as the girl’s back hits the dirt. The end of her bo staff hovers beneath the girl’s chin, and the child goes still.

“If I was a real opponent, you would be dead,” Lexa lets the end of her staff linger beneath Madi’s chin for another moment longer before stepping back. “Do not attack your enemy blindly.”

Madi sits up and grabs her bo staff. “Don’t attack blindly. Don’t think about your attacks before each strike. I can’t do both.”

“You can,” Lexa replies, “and you _will_.”

Madi climbs back onto her feet. “No, I can’t.”

“We will not have this discussion,” Lexa falls back into a defensive stance. “Again.”

“We have been training since dawn,” the child digs her staff into the dirt and leans into it. “Can we take a break?”

“Your enemies-”

“What’s the point?” Madi’s blue eyes harden in a flash of anger. “You don’t even let me near the woods anymore. Ever since those new sky people came you’ve kept me prisoner here. What’s the point of training me if you won’t even let me fight?”

Lexa’s grip tightens around her bo staff. “You’re not ready.”

“Neither were you when your Conclave was called.”

The blow is invisible and lands hard, ripping in deep. Her grip on her bo staff loosens, and she feels a phantom weight upon her shoulder. She can hear the quiet hiss of a cape, following each step. Her hands feel slick with dark blood. She sees their faces. Brothers and sisters. She hears their last breaths, their eyes going still.

“Klark told me-”

“Do not speak of what you do not understand,” her words are a growl, full of anger and rage towards the intrusive memories.

The child’s eyes harden again, and Lexa prepares for the girl’s next onslaught. Instead, Madi releases her staff and makes her way back towards their home. Lexa lets out a breath, her green eyes following the girl before she disappears into the building. She went too far. She made a mistake. She can envision Clarke’s disapproving stare clearly.

_“You were too harsh.”_

Lexa’s gaze travels along the tree-line until her focus falls upon the shed. She collects both staffs and returns them to their proper place before heading towards a picnic table where she left her weapons and coat before beginning this morning’s training. She straps her hunting knife back over her thigh and pulls on her long, black, fur-lined coat.

_“She must learn.”_

_“She is a child.”_

Her jaw clenches. Her fingers curl into a tight fist before relaxing. She pushes open the shed door and is greeted with the aroma of ripe flesh and death. Yet, her prisoner has not moved on. In the last remaining light before the door swings shut, she sees the man lift his head. Darkness consumes them both, the candle she had left burnt down. Strands of light sneak in through the cracks in the shed’s walls.

Her captive coughs before his dry lips crack into a grin. “Here we are again.”

Lexa doesn’t bother pulling over the other metal chair and approaches the man. In one smooth motion, she pulls her knife from its sheath and digs it deep into one of many older, open wounds. Her captive lets out a sharp cry, and the warrior pushes her blade in deeper. She yanks out her knife, fresh blood damping the crimson stains that already mark his brown uniform.

She does not bother to wipe her blade clean of her enemy’s blood just yet. “Tell me his name.”

The man manages to choke out a laugh between labored breaths. “Go fuck yourself.”

Her blade sinks deep into her captive’s shoulder, slicing open a fresh wound as the man’s cries fill every inch of the shed. “Your people will not come for you.” She twists the knife in deeper. “Your loyalty is ill-placed.”

“You don’t know shit.” Spittle flies from the man’s cracked lips. “My people will come, and they will rip this little paradise from your hands.” Despite her knife ripping into his skin, the man’s lip curls into a sly grin. “You can’t win this. When my people come, you and that little brat are _dead_.”   

Lexa pulls her knife free, wet crimson blood coating the sharp blade. Her captive will not give her what she seeks. With his untreated injuries, he will not survive long. His death will be torturous, but the reaper will remain free. This path has led nowhere. Her prisoner is useless. There is no reason to keep him here any longer. She wipes her knife against her captive’s shirt, green eyes focusing on the man’s neck. She knows how easy it will be to end his fight. It was easy the previous night, when the young man begged for help.

She feels a phantom weight settling back onto her shoulder.

Her gaze lifts to her captive’s face. “Your people march to their deaths.” She slides her hunting knife back into its sheathes and storms from the shed. The man’s vicious laughter worms its way beneath her skin and remains there long after she has left her captive to die.

 

● ● ●

 

The blade of her hunting knife glides smoothly across the long length of a fallen branch, carving the end into a sharp point. The peaceful sounds of scurrying wildlife and the smell of the trees soothes the anger that had burned hot in the morning sun. She pauses and presses the pad of her finger against the sharp point, testing it. She does not need to press hard to feel a harsh prick. She sheathes her knife as a small droplet of black blood slides down her finger. The new weapon she has carefully made will be a suitable replacement for the one that had buried itself into the young man.

She resets the trap as the sun begins to dip towards the horizon. Night will be here soon, and she will need to check all the traps before she can return to the village. So far, the rest of the traps remain bare. The enemy does not prowl the woods today. Or perhaps they have grown wise to the traps and move more carefully. However, that is doubtful considering how loud they are when they stomp through the woods. Skaikru. The Elephants of the Woods, as Anya once called them.

Her lips threaten to lift into a smile at the memory of Anya’s initial report on the sky people, years ago.

_The sky sent not warriors, but helpless children. My scouts watched them attempt to start a campfire with wet wood. Their tents are thin and few with most sleeping around a fire, if they managed to accomplish the task, or within their massive metal ship. Their hunting skills are poor. Luck feeds them. My scouts cannot discover a reason for their invasion. They are not equipped for war. It is possible that they do not mean us harm._

The sudden swell of happiness quickly drains as the memory fades. Anya’s initial report had been the first and last positive information regarding the sky people. Two days later, an entire village had been burned to ash by the sky people’s weapons. There had been so many deaths. Too many names to remember. Days filled with pain and nights of regret.

The soft snapping of a twig yanks the warrior from her onslaught of memories. Green eyes roam the surrounding trees, searching for the source of the noise. She sees nothing. There is only fading sunlight and the quiet of the woods. The silence stretches on until her gaze drops to the trunk of a nearby tree.

Lexa’s footfalls are quick and silent as she crosses the short distance. She kneels beside the base of the tree, her hand coming to rest against the familiar rough bark. The child’s animal trap, once barren, has a rabbit in its grips. The knots in the rope have held well, and the small noose around the animal’s neck has quickly ended the creature’s fight. The warrior feels a sudden rush of pride swell in her chest. She knows the child will be delighted to learn that her trap has worked. She knows that Clarke would be proud too.

A scream pierces the quiet. Birds launch from the highest branches and fly away from the disturbance while Lexa’s long legs carry her towards the source of the noise. The warrior runs fast and hard, sharp fear overriding every ounce of pride that had existed moments ago. She does not need to hear the scream again to know whom it belongs to. She has heard it before. She has felt this fear before. Her heart pounds against her chest and thunders in her ears. She is not moving fast enough. As her feet seem to glide across the ground; the trees continue to stretch onwards. The village remains out of reach. As the muscles in her legs burn, her mind begins to fill in the gaps with cruel thoughts.

Her vision blurs for a moment before she blinks away the hot tear that managed to escape. She cannot succumb to her fears. She will not let it weaken her.

Lexa emerges from the trees and into the village. Her boots skid to a halt against the dirt and her attention falls to the rover that has been sitting quiet for almost three days. The rover’s rear door hangs open, and the warrior barely glances at the items within the vehicle before her gaze settles on a far more pressing concern. Standing beside the rover is her captive and struggling within his arms is Madi. The child fights desperately to free herself from the man’s grip, but he holds tight.

The man’s head lifts, and as his dark eyes latch onto the warrior, Lexa feels the hot rush of rage flooding through her. She rushes towards the man, but he lets go of Madi with one hand while the other remains tight around the child’s arm. His free hand yanks at something at the child’s side and a moment later, a crack of gunfire explodes into the air. Lexa darts to her left as a bullet hits the ground, dirt spraying up into the air. She continues to run, however not towards the man. Bullets continue to strike the ground at the heels of her feet, the continuous popping of gunfire filling the entire village.

Lexa rushes behind one of the smaller buildings, and the gunfire comes to a halt. Her breaths come in harsh and short. The sudden quiet feels utterly wrong, yet before she can take another step she hears the child plead with the man. A rough thud is quick to follow, along with the girl’s cries. Lexa’s hand drops to the hilt of her knife. She has her sword strapped to her back, but it will do little good in this fight. She needs to get into her enemy’s space fast and strike hard.

“Say another word and I’ll blow your damn head off, girl!”

Her jaw clenches, and a growl crawls up her throat. She darts out from behind the house and rushes towards the man. He has the child pinned against the rover, his one large hand around her neck, feet lifted from the ground. The man’s head snaps back to Lexa, and he lifts his other hand. Lexa rolls behind the picnic bench as a bullet rips through the wood.

“Stop!”

The child’s cry is more sob than a shout, but it draws the man’s attention. Lexa’s hand drops to the hilt of her knife as the man turns the gun towards Madi. She rips her knife free from its sheath and brings her arm back. She hurls the blade as the man’s thick finger pulls the trigger.

_Click._

Her knife finds its target, sinking deep into the man’s hand. The gun drops to the ground as his dark eyes grow wide. She is still charging towards him as the man lets out a loud, guttural cry of pain. The warrior collides with the man, and they both collapse to the ground. She can hear the child hitting the ground too, but her focus remains locked on her enemy. She has landed on top of the man, and she uses it to her advantage. Her fist lands a loud, hard punch across her enemy’s jaw. His cry is silenced. She pulls her knife free from her enemy’s hand and digs the blade into the man’s chest. His dark eyes, still wide, stare up at her. She pulls the blade free and stabs his chest again, this time earning some resistance from her enemy. She feels him shifting beneath her and before he can figure out how to throw her off, Lexa yanks her knife free and then deliver the final blow to his neck.

The man goes still as the blade slowly inches deeper into his neck. His hand lifts and grabs hold of Lexa’s wrist, but his grip is weak. Moments later, his weak hold slackens and drops away. His dark eyes are still open, but the life is gone.

The sound of a soft footsteps catches Lexa’s attention. She lifts her head and finds Madi standing less than a foot away, her blue eyes staring at the man’s corpse. Her green eyes travel across the child’s body, searching for any wounds. There are none. Lexa jerks her knife free and rises.

“How did this happen?”

The commanding tone grabs Madi’s attention, and she tilts her head back to meet Lexa’s gaze. “He said he could help.”

Lexa steps over the man’s body, the child’s answer only stirring her anger further. “What?”

“He said he could help me find the man who-”

“I told you not to go near the shed,” her voice rises on the tide of her rage.

“I know but-”

“Your disobedience almost cost you your life,” Lexa snaps. She cannot fathom why Madi would do such a foolish thing. Has she not learned?

The child’s wide eyes quickly harden. “Your plan wasn’t working so I tried a different tactic. That’s what you taught us, remember? When one plan fails, seek another.”

Lexa shoves her bloody hunting knife back into its sheath. “Your memory is clouded. I did not teach you to rely on an enemy’s word.”

“You relied on Klark’s.”

She shoves the memory aside before it can take root. She will not have this discussion with Madi. They will not have this pointless debate when she a mess to clean up. The child’s mess. “Go back to the house. I will speak with you later.”

“No.”

Lexa’s jaw clenches as she swallows back the snarl at the child’s continued disobedience. “I will not tell you again.”

Madi does not move. “I’m not going back to the house.”

“Madi-”

“It’s not done.”

Lexa goes quiet. She does not need to ask to know what the child is talking about. It has been lingering in the recesses of her mind ever since Madi first brought it up.

“We need to spread her ashes.”

“We need to stay here and defend our home,” Lexa counters, her voice still hard. “It is what Klark would have wanted.”

“No, it isn’t!” Madi rushes towards the driver’s side door of the rover. Lexa is right on the girl’s heels and manages to grab Madi’s wrist before the girl can open the door. The girl turns to face Lexa and yanks her wrist free from the warrior’s hold. “Klark wouldn’t want us to stay here and _die_!”  

“Madi, that is _enough_!” Lexa reaches forward with every intention to grab the girl by her arm and drag her back to the house, but Madi backs away and the warrior’s hand grabs nothing but air.

  The child continues to back away. “I’m not going back to the house. I’m leaving, and you can’t stop me.” The girl turns and runs around to the back of the rover.

“Madi!” Lexa chases after the girl, however the chase lasts no more than a few seconds. The warrior stands at the back of the rover, the rear door still hanging open. The child’s furs that once covered her bed are now spread out along the floor of the vehicle. A tan pack sits on the narrow bench attached to the wall of the rover. Also, on the narrow bench is Clarke’s sketchbook. Her gaze drifts towards Clarke’s handcrafted rifle that lays on the ground among the furs.

Lexa’s gaze eventually lands on the child who has crawled all the way back towards the front seats. For the first time, the warrior notices the watch that hangs from the child’s wrist. Her gaze shifts to the clear jar that Madi clutches to her chest.

“I want you to come too.” The child speaks to the metal lid, as if she is not speaking to Lexa at all. But then Madi lifts her head, her blue eyes no longer hard but wet. “But if you won’t come…then I’ll go alone.”

Lexa’s hand reaches up to grip the edge of the rover. The anger and rage that had raced through every vein and filled every inch is gone. She waits for the hollow numbness that is sure to follow, but the pain remains. It lingers, unmovable, and is laid bare. Her mouth parts, but she does not know what to say. She wishes for Clarke. She knows that Clarke would know what to do and what to say.

“It’s what Klark would have done if…if it had been y-y…” tears spill down the child’s cheeks as a sob seizes her body. Madi’s body curls around the jar, soft cries falling from her lips.

Lexa remains silent. She can’t find the strength to say it without succumbing to her own weaknesses, but the child is right. If she had been the one to die, Clarke would have gone to the ends of the earth to give her a proper farewell. Clarke would not have stayed put, even if it meant giving up the home they had spent six years building together. Lexa’s grip on the edge of the rover tightens, her fingers digging fruitlessly into smooth metal. She won’t let Madi go off on her own. Not only is the child not ready, but she cares for the girl just as she cared for all the other natblida children that she lost. But she won’t be able to keep the child here. The girl will just keep fighting her.

But to leave this place. The last living piece of Clarke. If they leave, their enemies will come, and they will take the village. They will lose their home.

Madi’s quiet cries fill her ears, and Lexa can feel a phantom hand on her back. She can feel her presence.

Lexa’s hand lowers back down to her side as she lifts her leg up and quietly crawls into the rover. The girl lifts her head as the warrior sits down on one of the furs. Lexa draws her legs up to her chest and looks over at Madi. “I do not know where to spread her ashes. The oceans are gone, and the rest of the world is dead.”

Madi uses the back of her hand to wipe away the tears lingering on her cheeks. “The Mountain still stands.”

Lexa frowns. “That is not a good place.”

Madi’s body relaxes and uncurls. “I know, but the mountain summit is the closest to the sky. Klark came from the sky…and we should return her to the sky.”

Lexa is uneasy at the idea of returning to a place that was once the source of so much pain, but she also understands the child’s thinking. “It will be a hard journey. The Mountain is part of the wasteland.”

“I’m ready.”

The child is not ready, but their path is clear. They must do this. Lexa can no longer feel the phantom hand on her back, and she hopes that Clarke’s spirit has not abandoned them.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Playlist
> 
> Memories of Mother - God of War OST - composed by Bear McCreary  
> Amen - Amber Run  
> The Sea - HAEVN


End file.
